


how could we know (the stars would align)

by popthieves



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, also underage? because zayn is 17, alternative universe, the other three are barely in this, this /should/ get progressively smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:45:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popthieves/pseuds/popthieves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't Zayn's first kiss, but he's only ever kissed people his age, and he can't help the nervous twist of his stomach. But Harry's hand cups the side of his face and his lips are a warm and firm pressure against his, patiently waiting for him to open up. Zayn feels so young that it's almost unbearable, but even more so is the heat that pools around with his nerves, and it's what makes him open up just a fraction.</p><p>Or Harry is a 27-year-old lawyer and Zayn is his client's 17-year-old son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how could we know (the stars would align)

**Author's Note:**

> written for an anonymous prompt! i hope this is something like what you wanted, anon, and i'm deeply sorry if the age difference is too much?
> 
> anyway enjoy, please follow me on tumblr at ionlylikezayn :)
> 
> title is from relations by kenna ft. childish gambino

They meet because Zayn doesn't have to go to school on one particular day and his mom wants some company when she goes to see their lawyer about inheriting some property from his grandfather Walter. It's been a few months since he passed away, and Tricia has been taking over all the transactions while Yaser was away on a business trip.

Before they leave their house, Zayn gets told off because he forgot to clean up his room, and yes, he absolutely plans on leaving the house without fixing his bed, but he gives his mother a wide smile as he shrugs on a jacket and they're on their way.

Tricia's talked about their lawyer a couple of times over dinner, and while Zayn doesn't really pay attention since it's not a conversation he can contribute much to, he's picked up a few things. One is that his name is Harry, and he must be extremely friendly if he's on a first name basis with his parents. He's just in his late 20s, but he's built himself enough of a reputation that they're not worried about some kid mishandling their case, and Yaser once came home from a meeting carrying a fruit basket and then a box of cupcakes on another, so he must be a nice guy.

Zayn thinks about those things on their way to the firm, Styles Payne. There's a bit of a wait, but the secretary is nice enough, and her name is Lou and she has silver hair that Zayn takes note of. 

When it's their turn to come into Harry's office, Zayn is a little… _nonplussed_.

What his parents failed to mention are Harry's curls, half of it tied up in neat a ponytail while the rest spools over his shoulder, looking soft. He's scribbling over a piece of paper, the light from the window behind him spilling over his crisp white long-sleeved shirt (a few of the first buttons are left open, Zayn notices that, too) and on the front of his desk are tiny little football memorabilia, both British and American.

When he looks up, there are those emeralds for eyes, and it makes Zayn want to slip back and merge with the wall so he could look at him shamelessly. He doesn't expect to be actively participating in whatever discussion these adults were going to have, but Zayn is struck with something that he can only compare to when they changed English teachers at school two months ago, and Zayn knew he wanted to impress, wanted to be noticed. He takes a breath and continues to look at Harry, even as he says, "Patricia!" and stands up to give her a hug instead of shake her hand, which is what makes Zayn uncomfortably look away.

"This is Zayn, my son, you know about him," Tricia goes, wrapping an arm around his middle, a proud smile on her face while there's a pretty forced one his, too. When he looks at Harry again, he's looking right back at him, so his gaze goes back down on the floor.

"Your mum's told me a lot about you, actually." His voice is deep and he talks a little slowly, but it's oddly attractive, drawling clumsily over every syllable that Zayn has to see his face to know that it's real.

They're both looking at him, Zayn realizes — he should probably start talking. "Er, like what?"

Even though Zayn doesn't expect him to honestly answer, Harry comes to the front of his desk to lean back on it, his big hands lacing together as he did. "You're quite bright," he begins, and Zayn wants to roll his eyes for a second there, but Harry follows it up, "You're pretty talented, you do some theater, yeah? Some singing as well, I believe." He glances at Tricia and then nods when he knows he's right. Then back at Zayn, he smiles, gentle and warm, matching the mood of the sunlight filtering through his curtains. "That's quite admirable, really. Impressive. I sing a bit too, but just in the shower, that's it, only my loofah's allowed to hear me."

Zayn doesn't intend to, but the way Harry says it — measurably self deprecating, but still witty — it punches a laugh out of his gut, and then he bites at his bottom lip when he catches himself. 

His mother playfully tells him to be quiet and they all take seats around the desk, and then the business starts, but Zayn is so separate from it all that he could've been in a completely different room in a completely different building. Tricia and Harry are both intensely invested in their discussion that Zayn doesn't feel bad about staring at Harry, except when Harry looks over to him and their eyes meet and simultaneously drop it the floor, and the next time Zayn looks up, he swears that the other man's face is redder and a small smile rests on his face. In turn, Zayn grins at the framed pictures hung up on the wall and sinks lower into the chair.

This _keeps_ on happening that Zayn thinks he must be imagining it. 

Before the hour is done, Tricia excuses herself to the restroom, and Zayn and Harry are left to themselves. It's quiet for a few seconds, both of them looking but not really looking at each other. Just as Zayn is ready to take a deep breath to permanently settle himself in the awkwardness of it all, Harry breaks the silence.

"So how old are you?" It sounds like small talk, but by the tone of Harry's voice, Zayn can tell he's been thinking on it for a while.

He can't help but smile, messily brushing some of his fringe away from his face. "Uh, 17. You?"

Harry takes a breath and Zayn can't tell what that means yet, just that they both lick their lips at the same time. "27."

Suddenly, he's made aware of the tension in the room, and Zayn balls his hands up to fists on his lap. He nods and looks at something else, notices the rolled up yoga mat that's leaning on the shelf. "That's — that's old."

"Alright, I'm not _old_ ," Harry says, taking true offense and it diffuses some of the tension. "Just older."

Zayn makes a neutral sound, nodding again. He falls silent, just because his brain wants to ask if that means anything to Harry, but he's not quite sure where the line is drawn here, even though he probably crossed it the moment he stepped into the room.

"Well, your parents know this, and I think you should, too," Harry starts, careful with his words, and Zayn stares at his long fingers because they're tapping a rhythm onto the mahogany table.

"What's that then?"

"If you need anything," he says, looking deeply serious and sincere and something else that Zayn doesn't have a name for yet. "Anything at all, Zayn. You can ask me."

*

Tricia comes back into the office before Zayn can ask what that means, and the journey back to their home in Bradford is an absolute breeze because his mind is elsewhere, but mostly he's stuck wondering if he's ever even going to see Harry again, because days like this don't come often.

Turns out, Zayn has to do very little. Two days later, the phone is ringing just after dinner time, and while Zayn's dad is glued to the television and Doniya and his mum are doing the dishes, he's the one that answers the phone. It's Harry, sounding pleasantly surprised that it's him who picked up, and the sound of his name through the static and all makes him shiver.

"Yeah, hi." Zayn faces away from where either of his parents can take a peak at him and leans on the wall.

"Hey."

"Yeah." Zayn fidgets a little and picks on the sleeve of his shirt.

He hears Harry laugh a little before asking, "So. How've you been?"

Zayn laughs too, because fuck it, he has a crush, and that's just what happens. "I'm alright. School's happening, there's math homework to be had and a history chapter to be read."

" _Right_ ," and Zayn loves this, how open Harry seems to be, so much that he's met the man once and already he can tell what his face looks like just be the tone of his voice.

And he's not letting the conversation die just yet. "How about you, have _you_ read the chapter? It's on the Renaissance. Again."

They trigger each other's laugh, and Zayn vaguely feels like a lovesick puppy the way this is going. And the Harry goes, "Listen, I hope I see you again soon, yeah? I feel like you're… interesting to talk to."

Zayn goes warm all over and he stares at his feet, kicking them on the fake wooden floors. Very carefully he replies, almost in a whisper, "Yeah, I can be."

Before anything else happens, Tricia walks out of the kitchen and asks who's on the phone, and wordlessly he hands it to her, "It's for you," before darting into his room to avoid any questions.

*

There's a week after that, and Zayn only hears about Harry from his parents, again, but this time he's listening much harder than he used to. After three days, Zayn understands legal terms more than he anticipated to, and he's made aware of how much of a big deal the case is and Harry is the absolute key to winning it.

It's a Wednesday after school, and the relentless downpour of rain isn't any more surprising than it is a bummer, because Zayn doesn't think about stuffing an umbrella into his bag despite living in England all his life, and none of his friends are more responsible than he is. So when he walks out of the doors with Niall and Louis, they eye the walk towards the bus stop with some unease.

And then Louis smacks Niall on the chest for not bringing an umbrella, an argument starts, but Zayn looks a little bit nearer to the school's gate and sees an Audi parked there, but the window is rolled down and — fuck, it's Harry, and Zayn's breath catches because he's looking right at him again, waving at him to come over.

"Hey, I'll see you guys tomorrow," is all he says, not really thinking twice nor paying attention to either of Niall and Louis' reactions before he's running towards the gate, his backpack held over his head in an attempt to keep dry, but it's in vain. By the time he's slipped inside the car, his whole front is wet, and so is his hair. Harry's wearing a white shirt, similar to last time, but the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing a collection of tattoos, and that's definitely new.

Finally, Zayn turns to look at Harry, and he's getting this oddly charged look from him, and it's strange since he's never been looked at that way before. It's so open and disarming, all Zayn can see is green, and he can't bring himself to look away.

But then he goes, "What are you doing here?"

Harry relaxes into the seat and his hands wrap around the wheel, Zayn watching the action from the corner of his eye. "I saw it was raining, and — your mum, she told me that you studied here, and I figured… this is weird, isn't it?"

Zayn bites at his bottom lip and he can't help but be confused. "Yeah, a bit."

"Shit," he swears, lightly punching the wheel's leather cover. "Right, um. I'm sorry? Like, I can just—"

"Drive me home, yeah." Zayn's brain panics a little, but he's careful not to let it show, because he's not hating what's going on, not that he's entirely sure what it is. "I'm not bothered." Reaching back, he buckles his seatbelt and settles into the seat, mindful that he's getting it wet with rainwater. "I appreciate it."

Harry gives him a smile, weak and unsure, but it becomes more genuine once they pulled back into the road. Zayn expects them to be quiet and let the soft folk music playing from the radio fill the car, but they end up talking about the case. He even asks Harry if he's gotten those papers that his mum was talking about last night, and Harry very comically slaps his face and exclaims that he's forgotten.

Somehow it goes on to Zayn talking about school, which he doesn't even want to do, but Harry pouts, which is amazing, a grown man actually pouting, and he seems sincere enough that he gives in and starts to tell Harry how he and Louis stared at the ceiling for half of the whole period so they could laugh whenever Ms. Leslie looked up too to see what they were concentrating on.

Zayn doesn't remember the last time he's felt so comfortable around somebody else in such a short period of time, and he's only ever met Harry once. He wants to ask about how work is, though the words would sound foreign from his mouth, but the streets around them became bitingly familiar, and then he remembers that it's not exactly a long drive home.

Picking at the small hole that was starting on his trousers, he makes a split decision, speaking quicker. "Can you turn left here? Yeah. Keep going." 

Harry does as Zayn says, and he doesn't have to ask if he should park and kill the engine under a tunnel that's completely out of the way. It's dark under the shade of the bridge, and the rain is still going on around them, but it still feels too quiet inside the car. Harry glances at Zayn from the corner of his eye, but he turns to see him better because Zayn is confronting him with his eyes and his mouth is a pink and a little open.

It isn't Zayn's first kiss, but he's only ever kissed people his age, and he can't help the nervous twist of his stomach. But Harry's hand cups the side of his face and his lips are a warm and firm pressure against his, patiently waiting for him to open up. Zayn feels so young that it's almost unbearable, but even more so is the heat that pools around with his nerves, and it's what makes him open up just a fraction.

Then their tongues touch and Zayn groans, loud, and suddenly it's not quiet anymore, and Harry hums like he approves. Zayn is vaguely aware that he's kissing way too wetly, come on, get it together, you've snogged better than this, but then Harry's hands move down to his chest and then around his neck, his long fingers traversing the skin past the collar of his shirt, and Zayn doesn't really care anymore.

He doesn't know how long they've been going, but he's worked up, a bundle of intensity curling tightly in his chest. They're both straining over the gear stick to reach each other, but he takes Harry's hand on his shoulder and presses the heal of it against his crotch, sighing against the pressure. It seems like Harry takes a second or two to realize that Zayn is hard and letting him touch him like this, because he moans just before he tightens his grip.

They work together to get Zayn's trousers open, but Harry doesn't wait for it to be shucked down and sneaks his hand past the cartoon-themed boxers to wrap his hand around Zayn's cock. It's difficult to put in long strokes with the minimal space, but it still does it for him, hips bucking up against the tight circle of Harry's fist as the other man goes on to bite at his neck. Zayn's skin is tingling all over, he knows he's not going to last, not how he's been thinking about this for the past weak.

"Fuck, fuck, I—" A low groan swallows up his words, and he quickly pulls his shirt up to his chest while Harry's hand quickens and thumbs at the head. It has Zayn coming over his stomach within a few seconds, his whole body slumping against the seat. He thinks he's going to need a minute or two to come down from that, and he opens his mouth to say it, but then Harry's leaning over, tongue tracing the lines of come on his skin.

Zayn shivers and has to look away when he feels himself twitch inside his boxers. "Jesus."

"Yeah," Harry replies, sounding just as dazed once he pulled back. "I can't believe that just happened." Zayn closes his eyes because neither can he, but before he can drift of, his mind snaps back to the situation and sees that Harry's hard in his pants, too.

Zayn takes a deep breath, and he thinks it gives himself away, because before he can say anything Harry is shaking his head and gesturing with his hands. "It's okay, don't worry about it, it's fine. I really have to get you home." 

There's a kind smile on Harry's face, which Zayn thinks is amazing, given what they've just done, but he's thankful that he's being let off the hook because he's a little overwhelmed now. The gravity of the situation hasn't sunken in yet and he prefers for that to happen when he's alone in his room. He lifts his hips and tucks himself back into his trousers, and Harry very cheekily reminds him to put on his seatbelt before they go. Zayn rolls his eyes and tries not to smile out the window.

When they pull up in front of the Malik home, they give each other another one of those charged looks, and then Zayn so carelessly leans in to kiss him, tongue darting in, and he can still taste himself. He feels himself shiver before he pulls away, and Harry's eyes darken, taking him in.

"Next time," Zayn says and it sounds exactly like a promise. The gears of his mind start to work, and he wants his turn with Harry, wants him to know that he can keep up, that it's not a problem.

But Harry shakes his head again, his expression softening, fond. "I don't want you to, like... feel like you owe me. You don't." After a beat he adds, "Not that the thought's unpleasant, just. You know."

"Right. See you 'round then?" he offers, hand curled tightly around the strap of his bag.

"Definitely," Harry answers with no strain of hesitation in his voice. Then he pauses, and more hopefully he says, "Soon? You — you can call whenever you want, you can get my number. Or come by, I dunno."

"Yeah." Zayn grins, tongue poking out of his tongue and all while he opens the door. After he steps out, he crouches and waves at Harry through the window and makes a quick break to the front door, ready to tell his mum that school was fine and to tell Harry he said hi when she goes to see him tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm comfortable leaving this here, but if there's interest i'll make a proper series out of it!


End file.
